Healing Magic
by wintryone
Summary: Marion Hawke, warrior and Champion of Kirkwall, kills the high dragon who's made its home at the Bone Pits, nearly at the cost of her own life. In a freak turn of events, the dragon destroys the way out with its dying act, trapping Hawke and Anders. A chance for some healing magic between this long estranged couple is the result. Challenged by Fenzev to write this One-shot!


**A/N: I was challenged! By Fenzev! My challenge was to write Anders as a love interest, my first time ever! Kind person that she is, she even provided the scenario for me to work with! Yay! **

**Fenzev also beta'd this for me, and helped me with the cover art. No author ever had a challenge made easier, I assure you ;) Thank you so much, my friend!**

**I now present to you the results - I hope you like it - please let me know what you think! **

* * *

Anders watched in horror as Hawke climbed the scaled, thorny back of the high dragon. What was she thinking? The wounds on her stomach and back were probably enough to kill her by themselves, but she hardly seemed to notice her own pain as she finally reached the dragon's head and lifted her sword for the killing blow.

"Hawke!" he screamed, wanting to help her, but he could not. His mana was gone, and there were no more lyrium potions.

Just as Hawke buried her sword in the dragon's thick skull, it opened its mouth for a final, piercing roar, and its great tail swung through the air, right toward Varric and Fenris. The elf and the dwarf were both thrown wide, through the narrow passage that was the only way out of this cursed place. The massive, writhing appendage slammed into the cliff face, creating a landslide of rocky debris. Anders could hardly believe what he saw when the wall of granite seemed to collapse in on itself, as if it had been fractured already and just waiting for some massive blow to tumble it to the ground.

The exit was blocked. There was no way out.

Through the haze of smoke created by the landslide, Anders began frantically searching for Hawke. He ran to the dragon's corpse, circling it, while shouting Hawke's name.

She couldn't be dead.

The way his heart slammed hard in his chest, the way his mouth had gone as dry as blight-blasted land - he did not want to admit why he suddenly felt this was the end of the world... his world.

A low groan sounded from the other side of the great beast, and when he rounded the head, the sight before his eyes nearly dropped him to his knees.

"Hawke," he said, and this time it was not a shout, but instead a defeated whimper. He did drop to his knees then, and winced as his burned and blistered thigh protested from the movement.

He couldn't even heal himself, how was he supposed to save Hawke?

"Anders," she whispered, and lifted a weak hand toward him.

One of her legs was still beneath the dragon, but the rest of her... the rest of her looked worse than some he'd seen who were already dead.

Why had he drank that last mana potion? He could have used it now to save Hawke, to save... he still couldn't allow the thought arise.

Hawke was saying something else. "M-my pack," she said, and he noticed that her face was perhaps the only place where she wasn't severely wounded.

"First things first," he told her in as calm a voice as he could manage. He slipped his hand along her thigh, and was relieved to find it was still one piece. The dragon had barely pinned her, instead of crushing her. Okay, okay, he could do this. He'd find a way to help her. "Hold on Hawke," he said. "This is going to hurt."

"Marian," she whispered. "Name's Ma..." Yet she did not finish, because a scream tore from her throat as Anders took hold of her hips and pulled her from beneath the monstrous creature.

"I'm sorry Hawke, I'm so sorry," he murmured in a litany as he moved her into the shade of a nearby overhang. There was a bit of sparse grass, which was better than the baked clay and bedrock of the rest of this benighted place.

"S'okay," she said, her voice still weak and raw. "Pack..." she said again.

"I don't want to leave you..." he said. Who knew where her pack was in this wreckage? It could take him hours to find it.

"Go," she said, with some semblance of her normal voice. "Go now."

For almost five years he'd been following Hawke around, and though he didn't always agree with her, in fact he seemed to hardly ever agree with her, he was used to doing whatever she asked of him.

Anders went searching for the pack.

* * *

While Anders was gone, Hawke spent the time making sure everything worked. The only place that wasn't in horrible, gut-wrenching pain was her face, therefore, each toe and finger she wiggled sent excruciating tremors through her body. She didn't think anything was broken, thank the Maker. From the way her vision was swimming, and how she felt as if she were burning on a funeral pyre, she guessed the dragon bite had poisoned her. At the same time, however, she was shivering with cold, and she knew lost some blood. A lot of blood.

If only Anders would find her pack, there was still an elfroot potion in the bottom. Just one, and probably two years old, but she was hoping it would be enough. It had better be enough, because she had no interest in joining the rest of her family in the Fade, at least not yet.

Hawke still had unresolved issues, right here in Kirkwall, thank you very much.

Unlike some people she knew, she could give her issues a very specific name. Well, two names really. Anders and Justice. She could never figure out just how that whole possessed by a spirit thing worked.

She was a warrior, who lived by the sword, and had stayed as far away from magic and demons as was possible, considering both her father and sister had been apostates. They were also both dead, as were her mother and brother. The only Hawke left in all of Thedas, that which she knew of, anyway, and her life's blood was slowly oozing into this cursed ground.

The last person, the very last person she ever wanted to develop feelings for, was a mage. Fenris, or Sebastian or even Isabela would have suited her much better, but no. From the first the blond-haired mage, with his passion and conviction, had her nearly obsessed.

At first, she'd denied it, then she had fought it, and then, recently, she had been considering that maybe if she just went ahead and slept with him, the dreams and fantasies would finally stop. Now, not sure if she would live or die, she could be honest with herself. It was more than obsession - it was...

"Hawke!" cried Anders as he returned carrying her battered pack in one hand.

She tried to smile, she really did, but ended up biting her lip when another wave of pain clenched her stomach into spasms.

Anders dug through Hawke's pack like a madman. Obviously, he understood she had something in there that could help. She also had some clean bandages in there, and some kind of salve he'd given her after a reaver had knifed her in the back a few years ago.

"This is it?" he asked her, holding up the single elfroot potion. "This is all you've got?" He didn't wait for an answer, but quickly uncorked the bottle.

Anders slipped his hand gently beneath her head, tilted it back, and brought the bottle to her lips.

"Down the hatch," he said, but she could tell his attempt at levity was forced.

The potion tasted sour, and she wondered if it had any healing effect left in it, but she dutifully swallowed all of it.

"That bad?" he asked, probably noticing the grimace on her face.

She didn't even try to speak, she was feeling so weak. She thought Anders said something else, but it sounded like garbled nonsense to her ears. When he lowered her head, she felt the absence of his cool touch as soon as his hand pulled away.

Hawke didn't know how long she laid there, drifting in and out of consciousness. Every now and then, she was aware of her body being shifted, of cool air hitting exposed skin and of gentle fingers stroking her fevered brow. Now that Anders had managed to stop her most of her wounds from bleeding, she had stopped shivering, and the heat from the poison seemed worse than ever. It wasn't until she felt the tingling power of a healing spell wash over her stomach that the darkness at the edges of her vision began truly to recede. In fact, she didn't think she'd ever felt anything so wonderful in her entire life.

"Anders?" she questioned, though she was not sure what she wanted to know.

"Hush," he said, and his hand returned to her forehead again. "My mana is returning. You're going to be alright."

"How long?" she tried again.

"You don't listen very well, do you?" he asked mockingly, and she opened her eyes enough to see his handsome face leaning over her, blocking the last rays of the sun as it sank behind the cliffs to the west. She was grateful to see there was none of the blue in his eyes, which meant Justice was out and about. There was only the warm caramel of Anders' own eyes, looking down at her with an expression on his face that she'd never seen before.

Something moved through her. Something that wasn't caused from the pain of her wounds or from the mage's healing spell. It was a new something, and it felt sweet and smooth and... arousing.

"Hawke," he said. "Marian." She waited for him to go on, but instead his eyes closed and a look of regret passed over his features.

"Thank you," she managed to whisper.

Anders opened his eyes and shook his head. "You're not out of the woods, yet. And I don't like how hot your skin still is."

"Ice spell?" she joked, and surprised herself. Hawke never joked about magic.

His eyes flew wide, she was sure because he, too, knew she was no fan of mages and magic. "Marian?"

Yet try as she might, the tide of weakness and pain was taking her under again, and she fell back into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

Throughout the night, Anders waited and watched as Hawke struggled with the fever that raged through her body. Each time he'd felt a bit of his mana return, he spent it all, focusing on the worst of her wounds. The bandages in her pack had come in handy, and helped him to ebb the flow of blood that would likely had ended her life, if not for his more practical healing skills. When he could do no more, he rested with his back against the cliff wall and gently moved her head to rest upon his lap. Finally, he knew that the burn on his thigh must be healed too, or he would be no good to Hawke. Slowly, as his mana built again, he felt the relief from his own pain as waves of cooling magic washed over the wound.

Soft moonlight eventually filled the pit that had trapped them, for which Anders was grateful. It allowed him to see her, to watch her fitful breathing and keep an eye on her bandages. Or at least that is what he told himself. Mostly he studied her face. The fine line of her nose, the fullness of her lips, and fluttering of her eyelashes against her pale skin as she dreamed. She was so beautiful, and never in all the time he'd known her, had the chance arisen for him to look upon her without restraint.

As the night deepened and the moon rose higher in the sky, Anders began to truly struggle with himself. Looking wasn't enough. He wanted to touch her, and not in his role as healer. With her so near to him, her head cradled in his lap, and the buttery moonlight reflecting off her skin, he'd been unable to stop the torrent of feelings he'd been denying for so long. The woman, this strong warrior, this brave and true Champion of Kirkwall - he was in love with her. Like he'd never thought could happen, he had found her, someone he could give his heart to - and wasn't it ironic that she might be the one who would never accept him?

He was a mage. An abomination. How could he blame her?

Again he felt the mana within his blood rekindle, and just beneath her right breast, there was one last wound that needed attending. He'd been avoiding that one because he knew it would mean exposing her more private flesh to his eyes. Especially when he was feeling more lover than a healer, at the moment.

He'd removed her armor hours ago, before the sun had set and he'd lost the light he'd needed to do the job. Now, she only wore her soft, padded tunic and underclothes. He'd taken no more than a peek at the deep gash high on her ribs, but now he must reveal it fully to make the best use of the small amount of mana available to him. Anders took a deep breath and began to lift her shirt. Hawke stirred restlessly, but had not awakened. He did his best to keep her breast covered, but the wound was so near, it was nearly impossible. The soft under-swell tempted his resolve to remain clinical, and it was with trembling fingers that he pressed the ragged skin of the gash together and sent magic into her skin.

"Ah!" Hawke woke suddenly, and her body jerked, causing the hand that lifted her tunic to slip, revealing a full, rosy tipped breast to his eyes. "Anders?" she questioned, her wide, confused eyes peering up at him.

The last of his mana spent, the wound was closed, at least. Still, it had a red, angry look to it. "Hawke, I'm sorry," he said, just as she noticed her breast was exposed to him.

He'd expected her to shout, or to yank her shirt down to cover herself from his eyes. Instead, her hand lifted to his where it still held the hem of her tunic. "Anders," she said, not a question this time, and slowly, inch by inch, she brought his hand over the tightening peak of her nipple.

It was too much for him. His already strained control slipped from his grasp, and before he knew what he was doing, his fingers began to move on her, caressing her soft skin, and lightly skimming over her blatantly aroused nipple.

"Anders," she whispered, and the way she said his name was like a benediction.

"Marian," he replied, as his hand continued to move. "I..."

"Don't talk," she said. "Kiss me you fool."

He didn't need to be told twice. Anders stretch out along her side, and with one hand filled with her perfect breast, he leaned down and pressed his mouth to her parted lips. It was as if he'd suddenly drank a dozen mana potions at once. The energy that moved through him, poured into him as their lips met, was a storm of raging proportions. Hawke's tongue slid along his lips, demanding entrance, and Anders did not hesitate. He took what she offered, and gave her more in return.

* * *

It was the perfect kiss.

Hawke could hardly believe that only hours ago she'd been on the verge of death because in this moment, she'd never felt more alive. His mouth on hers, plunging and feasting, his hands sliding over her skin, healing pouring from them in a magical torrent. Her strength was miraculously returning, and it wasn't long before she began to work at the ties and buckles of his robes. She wanted to touch him just as he was touching her. She wanted skin on skin.

She wanted him.

To the void with consequences. Hawke no longer cared if this man were a mage. She only cared that he was a _man_. She removed the last of his robes, and as his magic continued to flow through her, healing her and arousing her all at once, she thought perhaps she'd been wrong all along. Perhaps he was exactly what she'd always wanted. Always _needed_.

Anders took a brief moment to spread his robes on the ground. The sight of him, naked in the moonlight, his desire for her plain to see, made her whimper in her throat.

Immediately, his concerned eyes flew to hers. "Marian? Is it the pain?"

"No!" she practically shouted. "Hurry!"

Anders laughed then, and the way it transformed his expression was beautiful to her. As he lifted her and set her on their makeshift bed, he nuzzled her neck and made hissing cat-like noises against her throat. She could hardly believe it herself when she giggled in response.

Hawke joined herself to him with every ounce of her newfound vitality, and soon they were both lost in the culmination of everything they'd both been feeling for so very, very long.

By the time the moon was an enormous orange globe, shining low in the western sky, Anders had lain with Hawke in his arms, feeling happier and more content than he had in what felt like forever. At least, happier than in all the time since that fateful day he'd merged with Justice. He'd been surprised that the spirit within him had remained quiet as he'd made love to her. Even now, there was nothing more than a vague sense of indifference from the spirit. After all the years of calling his thoughts of Hawke a distraction, he didn't know what to make of Justice's reaction.

Truthfully, he did not really care.

That truth was confirmed to him as she opened her eyes and looked up at him. Everything he'd always hoped to see, but had never dared to dream would be a reality, was there, shining brighter than the moonlight which bathed them in its mystical light.

"Hi," she said, and her lips curved in a soft smile.

"Hi, yourself," he said, and leaned down to place a gentle kiss on her lips.

"So," she said, seeming almost shy. That was something else he'd never thought he'd see - a shy Hawke. "What happens now?"

"We find our way out of this pit and into a bath?" he said, laughing.

"Mmm, that works for me," she agreed. "But I meant, you know..."

"You meant how does a rebellious, possessed apostate and the noble Champion of Kirkwall find a way to be together?" he teased.

"Yes," she said. "That about sums it up."

"One day at a time, sweetheart," he said as he pulled her closer. "One day at a time."

_The End_


End file.
